Charly sat at the counter at the McDougal Coffee Shop, staring down at her plate. It had been a week since she encountered the four tourists by the lighthouse and she's made every attempt to steer clear of them ever since. She'd been pretty successful at it so far, but her luck was about to change that morning.
She was now quietly gazing down at the toast, over-easy eggs, and a small serving of hash browns on a plate in front of her. A steaming cup of herbal tea stood close by. As appetizing as everything looked, she hadn't touched any of it.
She seemed to be torn between what to try first. She just sat there, shifting her gaze from one food item to the other while the kindly coffee shop owner, the fifty-four year young ex-Navy-Seal-turned-business-owner, toweled off some freshly washed white coffee mugs.
"So, uh...think you can do it today, Charly?" Brandon "Mac" McDougal asked as he looked at her indecisive face. He watched as she lifted her mesmerizing turquoise eyes and looked at him. She looked pretty frustrated.
"I'm gonna to give it my best."
"Don't you always?"
"Then the best of my best?"
"Don't you always?"
She gave him a wry look and he chuckled in response.
She looked fresh, pretty, and ultra-healthy to him that morning. She had high cheekbones that had a warm blush by the chill of the morning breeze. Large, well-rested rare-colored eyes returned their full attention on her untouched plate, and were now frowning with that same indecision from before as she stared nonstop down at her plate.
If Charly had been a girl who cared about trivial things like physical beauty, she'd be a true splendor to behold, perhaps even super-model worthy. She was tall, standing at a decent five feet eight inches, and she had a photogenic face. Far from the Vanity-cover supermodel she could be, Charly Meeren was prone to wearing shapeless, unflattering men's clothing, and she rarely showed off any part of her anatomy, even during the hottest days of the year.
"You know, Charly," Mac said, "you really don't need to eat that just cuz other people do. We love ya just the way ya are. You know that, don't you?" He set the mug down with the others as business began to pick up.
"I do. And thanks, Mac," she said with a brief smile.
"Think nuthin' of it."
Mac's waitresses were running themselves ragged now. Strange thing was, as busy as McDougal's was, chairs on either side of Charly at the counter were left vacant. For newcomers, this was strange, especially during the morning rush. For those who have lived all their lives on the island and knew Charly Meeren well, this was how it's always been.
Charly sighed. "I know I can do it, Mac. It's just a matter of getting over my gag reflexes, you know?"
He paused with toweling off some spoons as he frowned at her. "Yeah, I know. How couldn't I, considerin' how it always hits me right here," he pressed a big fist over his heart, "every time you tell me you need to gag when you look at my cookin'."
"You know what I mean." She smiled and shook her head as she picked up her fork and knife just when a group of four newcomers entered the shop. Their presence caught the full and undivided attention of the other guests—except for the one who was still staring down at her plate with a nauseous look on her face.
Ryan was the first to spot Charly at the counter. He smiled as he bent his dark head to his older brother and said something before he nodded into her direction.
Royce raised his head and looked at the pretty girl's slender back. She, unlike everyone else there, appeared oblivious to them.
Mac, however, had spotted them, and he stole a furtive glance at Charly as he absently toweled off another mug. "Friends of yours?" he asked, knowing full well that Charly was fully aware of the four new guests who had entered the establishment.
"Nope," she said without even looking up from her plate.
Royce Masterson, dressed in a warm white cable-knit sweater, sauntered over to the counter, leaving his brother to seat their ladies. He bent forward and braced elbows against the counter as he smiled at the proprietor who smiled back with a cautious gleam in his eyes.
"Two of your specials there with coffee and orange juice, and two skimmed cheese croissants and two fruit bowls, but please hold the whipped cream. Oh, and two English Breakfast teas, please."
Mac smiled and nodded just as one of his young waitresses returned to the counter and he looked at her. "Got that, Stella?" he asked her, and she winked and smiled as she took the tray with dirty dishes to the back.
In the meantime, Charly was quietly sitting with untouched knife and fork as she continued to stare down at the equally untouched food on her plate. This caught the young man's attention and he looked curiously from her delicate profile to her untouched plate and back.
"Are you going to eat that?" he asked with a friendly smile and tone.
Without looking up, she answered, "Yep."
He looked over at Mac who sent him a cold look—clearly disapproving of him striking up a conversation with this Charly Meeren. It peaked his curiosity. He had noticed that everyone on the island appeared to be unusually protective of this Charly Meeren. They didn't divulge anything about her even when he asked outright.
The question is...why? It was also a question he was determined to find an answer for.
"Eventually," she added. Then she sighed as she gave up and pushed the plate from her. She took up her mug of tea and sipped on the eerie green hot liquid with a calm, emotionless, but undeniably beautiful face.
Mac stepped to the counter, reached under it, and pulled out a large white porcelain bowl. It looked like an oversized mortar bowl, the kind you find in apothecaries. It was chockfull of watercress salad with pickled mussels, boiled shrimp, crab, and lobster, and it was covered with plastic wrap.
"Here ya go, Charly," Mac said as he scooted the bowl over to her with a wink.
She set her mug down and smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Mac. I'm gonna best this—one day, and then I'll do your cookin' honor. Promise," she assured him and she smiled as he winked again before he went about his work.
"If you don't like this," he looked down at her untouched plate, "for breakfast, why order it?"
She removed the plastic wrap from the bowl without looking up, and answered, "I guess your mother, while having never told you that it's rude to stare at people, never read Green Eggs and Ham to you as a child?"
"It's a simple, American breakfast, Charly. Nothing out of the ordinary," he pointed out.
She lifted cool, true turquoise eyes and they instantly fascinated him. In the light of day, he could clearly see how crystalline they were and how thick those whipping black eyelashes were that framed them so perfectly. He had initially thought they were "falsies" as Sharon called them, but they were all hers. At any rate, Charly Meeren didn't strike him as a woman who wore cosmetics, let alone false eyelashes.
"You're staring again."
"I apologize for that," he said. "But it's difficult not to."
She slowly frowned as she eyed him as if she doubted his sanity.
"That was a compliment," he said as he turned to lean on one elbow so he could face her.
"Hm." Her lips broke into a smile, but a cool one. "I'm sure your ladyfriend wouldn't approve of you complimenting other women unless, of course, she's accustomed to your habit."
He didn't appear to be offended as he smiled. "Have we met before?"
Mac paused and frowned as he looked from Charly to the handsome tourist.
"Don't think so."
"Are you certain?"
"Yep," she said as she scooped more salad into her mouth and ate with gusto before she took a paper napkin and wiped her lips. As she chewed, she kept her eyes lowered as if she were contemplating something.
"There's something about you that's very familiar. I just can't put my finger on it."
She raised her eyes. "You shouldn't trouble yourself. I'm certain we've never met before."
